


Derek Hale Rarepair Week Collection

by Hedwig_Dordt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ace!Derek, Derek Hale Rarepair Week, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Multi, PWP, background skittles, short description per per ficlet available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four ficlets I wrote for Derek Hale rarepair week 2015. Two Derek/Lydia, one ace!Derek, one Derek/Lydia/Jordan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lydia’s career is heavily inspired by a very very dear friend of mine, who on the cusp of finishing her PhD did in fact get several post-doc options. Her field is not mathematics. That’s another friend of mine :) Given the amount of friends-with-PhDs I have, Derek’s competence kink might inspired by mine, now that I think of it. 
> 
> The public defence of your PhD is an academic tradition in The Netherlands, where a committee of academics in your field grill you on your writing. You defend your work as well as you can, aided by two people of your own choosing -it can be your partner, a colleague, or a dear friend. 
> 
> The Millenium Prize Problems are a set of seven mathematical problems, of which only one has been solved so far. Solving a Millenium Problem -or rather, proving any of them- will earn you $ 1,000,000. So pay attention in class! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millennium_Prize_Problems
> 
> The Bakkhai is a play by Euripides I translated for Greek class in high school, and have had a soft spot for since.

**The One Where Stiles Knows First**

Stiles likes to think he is cut out to be a profiler: double major in psychology and criminology, child of law enforcement, the FBI enrolled him out of college on the promise he would never ever have to work with mr. McCall. Rafael McCall got transferred to Florida and Stiles sincerely hopes he gets eaten by an alligator -or maybe flamingoes. Anyway, Stiles has figured out that Lydia has a type. Stiles has denied it most of his teenage life, but she does. She likes men that could feature on the covers of fitness magazines. Sadly for her, most of them can’t keep up with her brain. Stiles has told himself most of his teenage years that this fact would eventually lead her to him. (It didn’t. Stiles has since figured out that he’s in fact bisexual. The story of how he eventually got together with his best friend will have to wait for another day). It took Stiles longer to figure out what Derek’s type would be, but he likes to think he’s figured it out. Derek has a competence kink. Derek likes women - and possibly men, Stiles never got a definitive answer there - who do it well - whatever it is they do. While Lydia was away pursuing a PhD and developing as a dedicated amateur theatre actress, Derek went to therapy and starting freelancing as an editor for a set of small online fiction publications. Stiles is pretty sure he is also writing short stories, but Derek is mum on that topic, and at Scott’s insistence he had kept his nose out of it.

He’s not going to take all the credit, but he will say that he has quietly suggested to both of them that the other might be… suitable. It’s weird to see your friends crushing on each other after they’ve been friends for so long. Most of them pack are aware something has shifted between Lydia and Derek but so far neither has done anything about it. So Stiles has decided it’s time that they do. He told Derek he would pick him up for Lydia’s PhD defense, and has hinted liberally that this would be an appropriate moment to discuss a future together. Starting with coffee. Together. Lydia has a few offers lined up, and Stiles has argued for her to stay close and not move to bloody Boston. He has also told her she should discuss the issue with Derek, because he’s smart and doesn’t she like him a lot really?

“I know I do, but I also don’t want to take decisions based on a relationship that might not work out!”

“That’s why you should start!” Stiles had tried to argue, “so you’ll never have the disappointment of what might have been looming over you.”

She smiled softly at him: “Scott is really rubbing off on you.”

Stiles grinned: “In the best possible way. So that’s a yes?”

“If he asks, I’ll say yes.”

Stiles emphatically does not fist pump at that, but he does kiss her on the cheek, “and since you’re the poor grad student and I’m gainfully employed, I’ll go pay for coffee. Same time next week?”

“Thanks. Next week is fine,” she says,

 

In a way, Stiles thinks, this was meant to be. He drives his new jeep to Derek’s loft. He suppresses the impulse to honk to announce his arrival. Derek probably heard the car four blocks away. The door to the central hall opens, and Derek appears. Stiles gapes a little. He’s mostly immune to the preternatural hotness of his friends, but he was utterly unprepared for Derek in a suit. And holding a bouquet. As in: flowers.

“Calm down, Stiles,” Scott says next to him, “you got her a perfectly good present.”

Stiles looks at his lover and smiles. One of the perks of dating your best friend: he reads you like a book.  Scott opens the passenger door to hug Derek.

“Hey dude, you look great,” he says, “are you ready?”

“No,” is Derek’s initial reply, quickly amended to: “well, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You want to take the passenger seat?” Scott offers.

“Nah, you take it. I’m good.”

 

Stiles drives them to the campus. They’re well in time and pick seats in the front of the auditorium, copies of the thesis spread out before them like they understand what she’s written. Others drop in, some Stiles recognises, other he doesn’t. Mr and Mrs. Martin sit down on the front row with them, stiffly polite to each other still. The Whittmores are there, even if Jackson isn’t. Kira and Malia made it too. Lydia comes in, looking tense, flanked by two other grad students Stiles recognises. She smiles briefly at her parents, and then at Derek. She sits down at her designated spot, her aides on either side of her. The ceremonial bit starts when the committee enters. Silence falls heavily in the auditorium. Stiles is no mathematician, but he can tell which questions are the softball ones, and which are the curveball questions. He leans over to Derek and whispers: “She’s doing really well, isn’t she?”

Derek is utterly starry-eyed and nods.

 

The end of the ceremony is announced and the committee retreats to confer about her grade. Lydia goes over to hug her parents, and then goes to greet her friends.

“I’m so happy you could make it!” she says to the crowd.

Derek holds out the bouquet: “Is it too soon for this?” he asks shyly.

She accepts the flowers and pecks him on the cheek, “never,” she says, “thank you.” Stiles is convinced Derek is blushing.

 

A mere twenty minutes later, the committee returns to offer their verdict. Her thesis is deemed solid, her work creative. Her defense was as witty as it was sharp. She is awarded the degree of doctor, cum laude.

“It’s almost like they know her,” Stiles whispers to Scotty.

The professor who had more or less supported her in almost four years Lydia had worked on her thesis is invited to give the laudatio. Stiles half-listens to it, mostly watching Lydia’s and Derek’s reactions, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand in his lap.

 

Lydia’s aide invites them for drinks in a nearby cafe, and the McCall pack walks there, just behind the Martins. When they arrive, the whole cafe is decorated, a table for presents has been put in place, and what seems like all of the math department is already there. Stiles, Scott and Derek have to queue to offer their congratulations.

“You go first, we’ll hold off the congratulatory horde,” Stiles offers to Derek when it’s almost their turn. Derek blushes and looks like he wants to object. Scott throws him a look and gestures at him to go. Derek draws a deep breath and steps over to offer his… something. Stiles sees him hand over an envelope. He elbows Scott: “Scotty, what is he saying?”

Scott tuts at him: “It’s really impolite to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

Stiles pouts a little, and Scott relents: “He got her tickets to a show, the… I’m not sure if it’s a word.”

“Probably something classical and geeky,” Stiles says, slipping his right arm around Scott’s waist and planting a kiss on Scott’s cheek. Lydia smiles widely, wraps her arms around Derek’s neck, who cautiously puts his arms around her waist and pulls her close for a second.

“I think that means they’re going.” Stiles says.

“Now I know why they picked you for the profile program,” Scott deadpans.

They move in to hand over their present, an A1 sized poster with the Millennium problems. “In case you got bored,” Stiles offers.

Lydia gently punches him in the shoulder, before hugging him. “Thank you boys.”

“So is Derek taking you out?”

She smiles so widely it almost lights up the room: “Yes. Finally. The Bakkhai.”

“Never heard of.”

“It’s a great piece,” is all the explanation Lydia offers.

“I hope you have a great night.”

Lydia gives them a predatory grin.

“Okay, we’re going to move on now, but we’ll see each other real soon, okay?” Scott says.

 

When they order a fresh round of drinks, they see Derek bring a drink to Lydia. Something hits Stiles, and he turns to Scott: “do you reckon the bastard has been planning this all along?”

 

Derek takes Lydia out to dinner and a play on Friday night, and drops her off at her house like a gentleman. On Saturday morning they go for brunch. On Saturday night, they stay in. Derek and Lydia both refuse to give any details as to what happened that night, no matter how many of his interrogation skills Stiles throws at them. On Sunday morning, Lydia accepts the job offer from Google.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for another favourite of mine: ace!Derek. I'm not sure if it counts as a pairing, but what the hell. Count it a preview on the platonic poly pack that I'm trying to get done for Christmas.
> 
> Warning for a reference to the whole Kate Argent mess, nothing explicit though. Same goes for his other canonical partners.
> 
> So, ace-sex positive Derek. Since I'm not personally ace, I'm drawing on a lot of tumblr posts here. Feel free to tell me I fucked up. I'll try to un-fuck it.
> 
> I accidentally wrote a hint of PTSD in for Parrish, nothing graphic.

Derek is a born wolf, surrounded by a... diverse array of weres, some of them bitten, others born, some simply human. He knows he experiences relationships differently than most people. With Kate, he had chalked it up to her being human. With Jennifer, it turned out that she was gone. With Braeden, he had felt connected, he was cool with having sex, he just didn't... crave it like other people seem to. Sometimes, when the teenage drama gets on his nerves, he cooks dinner for Parrish. They watch baseball together sometimes. They're not lovers, not exactly but Parrish is a veteran. He has bad days, when he needs a soothing touch, one that Derek is happy to provide.

 

He invites the pack over to  the renovated Hale house to make a bonfire as the days begin to shorten in September. They come, bringing marshmallows, cocoa, and rum -that he chooses to overlook. Scott will take Stiles home, or the humans can stay the night.

"Remember you tried to recruit me to your pack?" Scott says softly handing him a cup of chocolate, "I didn't spike it, no use anyway." He accepts it, and silently waits for Scott to explain why he's bringing this up. "That was pretty scary at first. But I was thinking the other day, what if you realised what I could be before anyone else."

"Must've been a subconscious thing," Derek says, "because I was honestly just trying to keep you safe." Kira is spilling softened marshmallow on his shirt she had raided from someone's closet. Oh well, a mixture of sugar and gelatin means it dissolves in water.

"Did I ever say thanks for that?" Scott asks, breaking him away from the washing cycle revery.

"It's been implied," Derek shrugs, "it's okay. You're better at the whole connecting leadership anyway."

Scott puts his mug down carefully and wraps his arms around Derek: "thanks buddy, for trying and not giving up on me."

Derek tries to say something, but words fail him. He just hugs back in the hope that will convey the ballooning mixture of pride, humility, and love that's making rounds in his chest.

"I love you too, man," Scott says. "I mean, I don't mean it. I mean it, but not like that. I know you're not wired like that."

"It's okay," Derek says, "I get it."

"Please don't tell Stiles, he'll have a conniption."

"And demand a threesome."

Scott grins, "he would at that."

"And I'm really not wired that way," Derek says.

Scott picks up his mug, and wrapping his hands around it, looks at Derek thoughtfully. "You know what, that makes sense."

"Good, because it's my life."

"No more threesome jokes, got it." Scott says in a half joking voice. Derek feels the sincerity underneath.

"I'll take hugs, though," he adds, "from any of you."

"Got it."

Scott holds up his mug, and Derek clinks his against it.


	3. Teacher AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://marinmorell.tumblr.com/post/131610574091/twrarepairnetwork-introducing-derek-hale

Friday mornings, he takes a little longer to get to school. He goes over his outfit twice, brushes his teeth slightly longer than the rest of the week. But when he leaves for school, it's with a smile on his face, because Friday means Lydia Martin is teaching. Lydia Martin, with a PhD in mathematics, teaches AP mathematics to the higher grades. She also has the high school equivalent of office hours for her students to come in and discuss issues, from dealing with your parents' divorce to book recommendation. Derek knows this because when asked, his Spanish students told them they were reading books at her suggestion. She's five foot four chock full of awesome and Derek has been admiring her from afar. He’d attempted to start a conversation with her exactly once. While he was getting her coffee, the physics teacher rudely started a conversation about fields theorems or whatever, and he had handed her the muddy coffee and left the teachers’ office.

 

It’s two weeks before summer break, when he knocks on her door at the end of her office hours.

“Come in!”

He opens the door, palms a little sweaty.

“Mr. Hale!” she says with a smile, “welcome, please sit down, I’ll be with you in a tick.”

He sits down in one of the three arm chairs that are arranged around a little table. He tries not to notice there’s a big box of tissues on it. He rubs his palms over his jeans and wonders if any of this would be considered inappropriate and/or would get him fired. Well, too late for that. He promised Laura he’d ask her out for coffee and he is brave in some respects, but he does not want to defy his sister. The sound of a pen being forcefully put down draws him back to the present. Lydia is getting up from behind her desk, and smoothes over her blouse.

“So, Mr. Hale, what brings you to my office?”

“Derek, please.”

“Derek, call me Lydia,” she smiles sweetly with it.

“Wait, how do you know my name?”

“Office hours. I’ve had more than one young man in a crisis of sexuality in my office over his Spanish teacher.”

Derek quickly scans his catalogue of students, trying to remember if he did something wrong.

“Nothing to worry about,” Lydia says, “I give them the basics of sexual and romantic diversity and send them over to Scarleteen.”

“That’s… nice of you.”

“I try.”

“Are you yourself…” Derek waves his hand, lost for words, and cursing himself out for it. He speaks three languages and reads a couple more. He should not be at a loss for words.

“That’s a tad personal, don’t you think?” There’s a challenge there, but no real anger.

“Well, I was going to ask you for coffee, so I might have an ulterior motive.”

Her smile grows wider, “why Derek Hale, are you nervous about asking a girl on a date?” She’s going to be a handful, he can tell already. Oh god, why is he so invariably drawn to women who can put him on his knees?

“Depends. Are you going to say yes?”

She looks up, pretending to think, letting the silence draw out for a bit longer, “I might be persuaded,” she offers. “What do you have in mind?”

That he has prepared for: “a friend of mine learnt to make espresso the Italian way.”

“After work?”

“Works for me,” he says, “especially since my last class ended…” he checks his watch, “twenty minutes ago. There’s always grading to do, but I suppose that could be deferred for a better offer.”

“I close up here at four, wait for me out front?”

 

Their first proper date is a blast: they talk about books, about their passion for education, blackboards versus digital tools, and Lydia tries to explain her thesis work. They find that they both went to Beacon Hills High School, but they’re too far apart in age to have really met. While Derek was a basketball player, Lydia was involved with the rival sport, lacrosse. Well, the captain of the lacrosse team. Derek is vaguely relieved to hear the guy is not just out of the picture, but across the ocean. They go for dinner at a Derek’s favourite restaurant, run by his old friends Boyd and Erica. Erica looks approvingly at Lydia and Derek mouth “hands off!” at her. She throws her hands up in mock-surrender. They order tiramisu and creme brulee for dessert, and swap plates half-way through. Lydia looks even more beautiful in the simple candle light, while enjoying her dessert. Derek walks her to her car and kisses her on the cheek.

“I had a great time,” Lydia says.

“Me too,” Derek replies with a smile, and adds “you want to… maybe... ”

“Give me your number before you hurt yourself,” Lydia says decisively.

He gives out his cell phone number, and unnecessarily holds the door open for her as she gets in. She gives him a final wave, and drives away into the darkness. He stares after her until he can no longer make out the tail lights. He walks back to his Camaro, checks his phone, and drives the short distance home.

 

He wakes up to find she already texted him: I’m home safe. Thanks for a wonderful dinner. Lydia He writes her back: Thanks for letting me know. I had a great time too. Think we can do it again soon? Derek. He presses send before he can stop himself. He stretches, drinks two glasses of water and goes for a run. In the afternoon, he goes to the farmer’s market to shop for the next week’s dinners. Everything feels so light for some reason. And everything reminds him of the hours he spent with Lydia. He runs into Scott, who comments he looks happy.

“Thanks, man, I feel good,” Derek says.

“Met someone special?” Scott ventures.

“Maybe?” he hedges.

“Oh come on, bro, that kind of glow is not for ‘maybe’. You are in love.” Scott argues.

“I might be?”

Scott lights up: “who’s the lucky person?”

“She teaches at my school, Lydia Martin?”

“Oh man, she’s amazing. Great kisser too,” Scott flashes him a grin.

Derek blushes: “we haven’t gotten that far yet. Just, you know, coffee-turned-dinner.”

“So has she finished up her PhD now?”

“You know her?”

“Sure, she was in my year. Dated the captain of the lacrosse team.”

“She’s so smart, though,” Derek sighs, “and she knows about these really arcane things, and yet she’s so unabashedly physical.”

“Man, you’ve got it bad. Happy for you, bro,” Scott says. “Sorry dude, I gotta dash. My mom is working the graveyard, so I’ve gotta bring her some supplies.”

“Sure thing. You be good. Coffee some time soon?”

“That’d be nice. Come over whenever. If I’m not in, Stiles will be.”

“How is that going, by the way.”

“Come over and find out.” Scott one arm-hugs him and leaves in a hurry.

 

On Sunday, Derek’s phone buzzes again with a text from Lydia. Can you come over Tuesday? I don’t want to wait until Friday to see your pretty face again. He blushes, and types: Sure, I can come over. My last class finishes at 3:30, so I can beat rush hour and meet you for dinner? He sends it before he can think himself out of it. He takes a deep breath, throws a batch of laundry in the washing machine and gets grading.

 

He’s not sure who started it, but after the lunch break someone chalked DH <3 LM on the chalkboard when he enters the classroom. He pushes his glasses back up his nose looks around if someone is looking particularly guilty or giggly. When no one stands out, he figures he might as well start.

“Okay, class, question about the reading material?” He surveys his class. “Good. Causes of the Russian revolution?”

The books are opened with a sigh, and his class falls in line. He guides them through the material. It’s his favourite aspect of teaching, seeing the understanding dawn in his pupils' eyes.

 

He comes to school on Tuesday in a decidedly Friday outfit: the sweater that always lands him compliments, even though he feels it’s a little tight in the shoulders, and wearing his contacts. After some discussion, Lydia convinced him to allow her to make the dinner reservation. For the first time, it’s taking him serious effort to focus on his classes. His thoughts keeps drifting of to the evening ahead of him. His students notice of course: they ask leading questions, obviously meant to get him off on a tangent, and he uncharacteristically falls for them.

He dismisses his last class a little early, stops at the teachers’ bathroom to splash a bit of water on his face. “I can do this,” he tells his reflection, “I will have a good time, and not rush into this.” He texts Lydia he is about to leave, and gets into the car.

 

Lydia is waiting for him outside her building, in a beautiful dress, looking stern. He parks, gets out of his Camaro, and walks up to meet her. When she spots him, her face splits in a wide smile: “you made it!”

He smiles a bit shyly at her: “yeah, like I wouldn’t? You look great.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says, and looking him over: “So do you.”

He blushes a little, “thanks.”

“You want to head for the restaurant?”

“Sure.”

“Can we take your car?”

“Of course.” They walk back to his car, he holds the door for her. She slides into the vehicle, pulling her dress skirt down as he walks around the car to get in.

 

She guides him to a small Arabic looking place, just outside of city centre. When they enter, she is greeted with enthusiasm by a man Derek assumes to be the owner. The owner leads them to their table, and offers to bring the menu.

Lydia looks at Derek and asks: “Trust me?”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation.

“Any limitations?” she inquires. “Food wise,” she adds when she sees him blush.

“Not really, I think?”

Lydia turns to owner, “Ikram, just get us a selection of mezze, please.”

“Of course. And for drinks?” the man asks.

“Tonic for me, please,” Derek says.

“Make that too,” Lydia says.

“Coming up,” the man promises and leaves them alone.

“So you come here often?” Derek asks.

“Does that line ever work?” Lydia returns with a lifted eyebrow.

“Well, you’re here, so. Maybe once?”

“I’ll allow it. Yes, I like the place. Good food, nice people. By now, they more or less know what to get me without the menu. I think he stopped trying to get me to marry his son after three visits.”

“I’m sure he was trying to be nice.”

“Let’s go with that. You? Do you have a favourite restaurant?”

And just like that, all his nerves disappear, they’re back to talking like they did on Friday. About food, and fun and family. Lydia slips in a reference to her parents’ divorce when she was a teenager. Derek mentions his parents are no longer alive. He marvels how easy it is to share with her. The food is wonderful, artichoke hearts, rices wrapped in vine leaves  and hummus and little sausages in a spicy tomato stew. Lydia teaches him to say ‘thank you’ in Arabic, so he tries that when the owner brings them two small cups of coffee and some halva for dessert.

“Shukran,” he says, hesitation clear in his voice.

“Al-afw,” the man replies, “you’re welcome.” He adds to Lydia in a stage whisper: “I like this man.”

“So do I,” Lydia stage whispers back. Derek focuses on taking a sip from his little cup.

 

They argue a little over settling the bill, Derek wanting to pay for it, and Lydia having none of it. “I’m paying at least half of it. You paid last time.”

“I asked you.” Derek puts forward.

“Yes, Friday. And as you remember, Sunday, I asked you. Plus, you came over.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Derek reluctantly offers: “we could split it?”

“Acceptable,” Lydia says.

They ask for the bill, which Ikram puts on Derek’s side of the table. They both add half the total, and tip for the full amount. They look at each other and sigh in unison.

“You want a do-over?” Lydia offers.

“No, let him have it. I had a great meal, and a great night.”

Lydia nods her assent, “good.”

 

They get up. Ikram sees them out, telling them to come back soon. When they arrive at the car, Derek offers: “You want a ride back to the university or to your house?”

“My house, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“Of course not,” he says, holding the door for her again. She is tapping her address into the navigation system, and they drive in silence. When they arrive, Derek turns off the engine.

“This is me,” Lydia says, almost sad.

“Nice building.”

“You want to come inside?” she offers.

Derek hesitates: “Look, I really really like you.”

“But?”

“Nothing. It’s just that -historically… I’ve moved too fast. I really don’t want to ruin this, I don’t want my issues to ruin this. Because I like you. I need to take it slow.”

Lydia’s face turns serious, as she nods slowly. “Okay. I can try slow.”

He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes: “Thank you.” He leans in and kisses her cheek. “We’ll have the entire summer break to figure it out.”

“And hopefully then some,” she manages to say back.

“And then some,” he says. It feels like a good place to start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pwp, where the fic earns its rating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatos Salvajes is a hysterically funny Argentinian movie I saw this summer, and since Lyds is a genius and Derek canonically speaks Spanish (his sister migrates to South America, I assume the Hales speak it well), I like to think they watch it in the original Argentinian Spanish. For reasons of this fic I gave them my annoying habit of lacing their first language with bits and pieces from every language they know. 
> 
> For a very nsfw visual, think this: http://tmblr.co/Z86BSvmvhGmk

There are many reasons Lydia Martin makes a great girlfriend, and one day maybe a great mrs. dr. Martin: she's is whip smart, appreciates ballet and theatre as much as he does, she's sensitive to his dry humour, and she's strong in her own way. She's also argumentative, a tad vain, and a terrible cook, but these are things he can live with. She understands his complex relationship with physicality, she knows what it's like to have your body used against your will.

 

All of these things he has told people at various points.

 

He will forever keep quiet about one thing.

 

She tastes AMAZING.

 

Eating out Lydia Martin is probably his favourite thing about sex with Lydia, and he likes sex with Lydia a lot. It just feels rude to tell people "sure, this tiramisu is great, but these days I measure dessert against my girlfriend's cunt". His mother would frown on that, he thinks.

 

It's nights like this that are his favourite, when they watch Relatos Salvajes together, his head in her lap. When she laughs, he gets jostled a little. He doesn't mind really, but she strokes through his hair afterwards, so he relaxes again. When the movie ends, she folds herself over to kiss him, a gentle press to the lips. She draws back an inch and whispers: "good choice, cielito."

He smiles, "I figured you'd like it."

"You know what else I like?" she says with a playful smile as she kisses him again, deeper this time, with intention, the anticipation of more. He strokes over her back, which always makes her shiver.  

“If you don’t get up, I can’t do it,” he teases.

She straightens her back at that, allowing him to get up from the couch and kneel between her knees as she hoists up her dress. He slips his thumbs under the waistband of her panty, and she obliges by lifting her hips. He pulls her panty down to her ankles and she lets her knees fall apart to allow him to kneel in between. It’s a well-oiled routine between them, yet Derek never stops being amazed at how her pupils blow up in anticipation, how the arousal of even the promise of his tongue turns her scent a little sweeter for him. Slowly, he strokes up from her ankles, over her knees, pleased to see goosebumps on her skin, slipping his hands over her thighs, and her breath hitches. He slides over her groin towards her buttocks that he can’t quite reach.

“You ready?” he asks, just to be sure. Just because she smells like yes doesn’t mean he has the right to assume. Plus, she likes it when he draws it out a little. In return she thrusts her hips up a little further.

“Use your words, mi vida. What do you want me to do?” his eyes are glittering with anticipation for her answer.

“Please, baby, lick me, eat me out, make me come, just, please do it,” Lydia groans, wrapping her hands around his head, without pushing him in.

“As you wish,” he says and starts stroking gently around her vulva, testing if she’s wet enough yet. He bites just below her bellybutton. She takes her hands off his head, probably to rub over her nipples. He feels his own dick getting hard in sympathy. When he feels a little drop under his thumb, he figures it’s time to dive in in earnest. He dips in, and holds his tongue against her labia as widely as he can manage, and licks a broad stripe. When that earns him a groan, he rubs his jaw against her inner thigh to scratch a little, and returns to making little s-curves up and down over her lips. He looks up so see her face to find her looking down on him, her hands on her buttocks. She returns one hand to his hand. His eyes crinkle in amusement and he raises an eyebrow to ask if she’s impatient.

“Yes,” she says, “please stop teasing me, please.”

He slips his tongue inside her as deeply as he can manage, tasting her delicious apricot-cumin sweet-savoury-warmth, and slides out, up and down, and then slides in the first two knuckles of his index finger. He licks the staccato rhythm over her clit that she loves, slowly sliding his finger in and out in a counterpoint to make sure she doesn’t come yet. She’s rubbing her hard nipples through her dress, and half-moaning half-pleading for mercy. He finally goes in for the finish line, gliding in two fingers in concert with his tongue over clit until she convulses around his fingers. Slowly, he takes his fingers out and licks them clean before kissing the inside of her knee. “Good?”

“Need to catch my breath for a bit. I swear you keep getting better. If this is ‘going steady sex’ is like, I can’t wait for ‘married sex’, to be honest.”

“You want to find out?” he asks, looking up. She looks considering, not scared, he realises.

“Maybe one day.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains trace elements of gray ace!Derek, but mostly fluffy poly ficlet.

Derek’s therapist had asked him a very simple question when he first started coming: “what makes you happy?” It had taken him aback at the time. He wasn’t sure.

“Well that’s your homework for this week,” his therapist had said, “find two things to do just for fun, purely to make you happy.”

 

Back home, he started with a basic google search, which initially led to more porn than he was expecting. He ended up on craft sites, fishing fora, and a hoist of other things. He ended up registering on GoodReads, because talking about books seemed kind of interesting. When he went out for groceries, he also bought a basketball. He remembered enjoying that too.

 

He's not sure how it started, him and Jordan and Lydia. Probably with Jordan at the station.

"Have dinner with me," Jordan had said, "Lyds is doing research and she says you know a lot too."

So maybe it started with Lydia, who brought her notes over. He had bristled at her presence at first, over her role in bringing Peter back. But she had snapped at him: "he used me too." And somehow, he understood. His therapist seemed happy with the progress, and started to gently encourage him to connect with other people.

So he finds himself in Jordan's apartment, warm and comfortable, watching Jordan and Lydia flirt over the books. He is vaguely relieved to see who people flirting with someone other than himself, somehow without making him feel left out.

Lydia strokes over his arm as she puts a book in front of him and he tenses up. "I don't think I want that anymore," he chokes out.

She looks down at him,  "want what?" she asks.

"Sex?" he tries.

She smiles at him and nods: "I figured as much. I promise I won't involve you in sex, would you like me to touch you?"

Experimentally, he leans into her a little.

"I'm going to put an arm around you now," she says, giving him a few seconds to object. Carefully, slowly, she puts an arm around his  shoulders, pulling him in closer. "Can Jordan join too?" she asks. He nods. Jordan is safe. They don't know what Jordan is, but the sheriff trusts him. Lydia trusts him. Derek trusts him, almost in spite of himself. Jordan crouches down next to him and rests his head against Derek's knees, slipping a hand over his foot, rubbing little circles around his ankles. Lydia nuzzles his against his his: "Look at us, a werewolf, a banshee and something."

"Weirdest pack ever," Jordan says.

Pack. The word settles something in Derek's chest. Pack.

 

 


End file.
